Our house looks like pigs and dinosaurs live in it. This is what I texted my sister earlier today, and it was the most precise description I could conjure.
But a few hours have passed since that description, and I would like to take this opportunity to edit my statement: Our house looks like pigs and dinosaurs and toddler pigs and infant dinosaurs and their little tornado pals live in it. The following is an account of what led to this disaster of pigs, dinos, and pet tornadoes:
We've had a volcano of clean clothes in our laundry room for approximately 2 weeks now -- about the same time since our family all came down with a cough/cold. We've developed the habit of digging through this pile like little t-rexes whenever we need to find some clothes... who needs drawers when you have a clothes volcano? Well, last Wednesday night I was starting to feel functional and, with grandma coming to take Alice for a play day on Thursday, I had plans of finally cleaning our house (I also might mention that on Wednesday morning, a family of pigs knocked on our door and asked if it was for sale, as they were interested in buying... it was PERFECT for their needs. I declined and took the pigs' interest as a sign that it was high time I start cleaning).
Thursday morning came and so did a lot of vomit. Yes, I greeted the morning with a sick stomach and a putrid house, and spent the day in bed, like any puking piggy might do. My mother-in-law kindly took care of me, Alice the toddler, and Charles the-eight-month-old-who-won't-eat-solids-and-only-nurses. I can only imagine that nursing a baby and not eating anything is interesting, but I can't speak to that. I can speak to nursing and not eating and throwing up everything in your system (along with your organs, brains, and will to live)... it's not really that fun or cool.
Forward to today: Monday. I woke up feeling capable for the first time; tired, but ready to climb out of our pigsty of depression and make things look different (the pigs knocked AGAIN today and offered me bacon from an enemy of theirs, as well as a good supply of fresh slop in exchange for our home... I assured them that they would not be interested in our pigsty, as it would soon be clean. I think that ran them off for good). The morning was fairly normal... I added another pile of clean clothes to the volcano, but without guilt since I knew I would be folding the volcano during the kids' naps. I put the kids down and Alice the toddler was not interested in sleeping. Every once in awhile I interrupted her monologue to tell her to lie down. After an hour of this, Charles woke up hungry and I thought I would give some baby food a shot, since solids do have to happen at some point. He was fairly receptive, I felt fairly accomplished. While experiencing this long-awaited sense of accomplishment, I noticed Alice's monologue had turned into one word: hands. "Hands. Hands? Hands? Hands! Hands." This went on for awhile and I continued to feed Charles. The hands monologue wasn't ending, so I left Charles in his highchair while I went in to guide Alice away from "hands" to sleep. Little did I know that, upon opening the door to Alice's room, my day... my life... would never be the same.
All over Alice's clothes, crib, and hands was poop. She had reached into her diaper and made a discovery that she didn't seem too happy to have made, but apparently lacked the willpower to stop discovering.
I started the bath, brought her to the changing table, stripped the aromatic clothes, and put her in the bath. Charles was sad and messy in his highchair, so I rescued him, wiped him down, changed his shirt and diaper, and put him on the floor to play. I began spraying and wiping down Alice's crib, changed the sheets, threw the old sheets and clothes into the washer, and looked down at Charles to see he had spit up all over himself. After telling Alice not to drink the bath water, I changed Charles' clothes once more, then sat down to nurse him, since he didn't get to finish his food in the highchair.
Alice finished her bath, I got her out, changed her into the weirdest outfit the sparse closet could have given me, and the last two socks I could find. I let Alice read on the couch while I went to put Charles down for another nap, giving her fair warning that a nap for Alice was soon to come. After getting Charles settled, I came out to see Alice had discovered a bottle of bubbles that was all over the floor, her hands, and soaked into her socks. I wiped the floor and Alice down, took off her socks, told her it was night-night time, and put her to bed.
After this, I did what any sane person would do and sat down to record the day's adventure. Charles is now awake and Alice never did fall asleep. She is whining "bath" from her crib because apparently she was deprived ample bath time.
I don't know what's for dinner. I do know that the dishes aren't done, the volcano is untouched, the babies are crying, and the family of pigs is knocking relentlessly at the door. If you'll excuse me, I'm about to give up our home.